Janice and the Intern
by Simahoyo
Summary: Janice Covington is 84, and stuck in the Boston Medical Center when she meets a young intern-Maura Isles.


Janice and the Intern

By Simahoyo

(Crossover with Janice Covington and Maura Isles, years before Rizzoli and Isles. Janice changes Maura's life.)

Janice Covington was eighty-four by now. Years of smoking and rough living at various archeology sites had ruined her lungs. So, her normally active body was stuck in a chair at Boston University Medical Center, tethered to an oxygen tank. Emphysema! Dandy! All she needed and why the hell was she the only one of their tight-knit group of diggers still alive? And no one even bothered to talk to her.

"Hell, this old lady has stories to tell. The Nazi's hated me, and so did all the old woman haters in every professional group in the US. God, I'm bored. Active mind, worn out body. And I miss Mel.", thought Janice.

One of the residents came in, looking scared. The kid was a blonde, like Janice once was. And her eyes–well hell, they changed color. She hadn't seen that for a while. Maybe she could get this one to say something.

The kid looked at her clipboard, then at Janice, her eyes puzzled. Then she seemed to make up her mind and spoke.

"Ms. Covington?"

"Right here. Like I could go anywhere in this rig."

"Researchers are working on a smaller, portable tank. I believe it will allow for greater mobility."

It was Janice's turn to stare. What the hell was up with this one? She was like an encyclopedia with legs. And she held that clipboard for dear life.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Dr. Isles, well, I'm only an intern." And the kid stood there and stared at the floor.

"Well, hell Dr. Isles, any news, or am I stuck here until I die?"

"I, um, don't see improvement from your medication. So, I guess you are."

"God kid, you've got no bedside manner at all."

Her eyes teared up, and her voice was just a bit husky. "I know. I'm a disaster. I don't know what to do."

Janice grinned, and patted the chair next to hers. Yeah it was hard to breathe, but this kid had something about her.

"Siddown. I used to go all over the world, digging with my pals. Archeology, that's the ticket for me. Or it was. We'd find the site, dig up the records, and Mel would translate. What a team we were. We gave voices to people who'd been dead thousands of years. Changed how people saw history. You seem like a smart kid, but there's something not working for you. So, what's your story?"

"I, uh, well, I've aced every class, but I'm not a people person. I don't know how to talk to...anyone. I really want to be a doctor, but I have to talk to the patients, and I can't."

"Are you shy?"

"Not really. I seem to always say the wrong thing. And I can't lie, it makes me physically ill."

"That's a problem, kid. I've lied to everyone from Nazi soldiers to US Senators. It's an art form with me. You ever tried just leaving stuff out?"

The kid's eyes went big, like it had never occurred to her.

"Leave things out." She got a dreamy look in her eyes. "I could try that."

"So when I asked you how things were going with me, what would you say now?"

"I'm sorry, I don't see an improvement?"

"Better. Don't say it like a question though. Say it like you mean it."

"I'm sorry, I don't see an improvement."

"Good."

"You did archeology, so, what did you mean about speaking for the dead?"

"My gang of diggers found the Xena Scrolls. Ever hear of them?"

"No. But, it's not my area of study. Are they important?"

Janice knew her eyes flashed. She was protective of the scrolls. It was personal with her.

"Hell yeah! Xena of Amphipolis was a woman warrior who changed from a warlord to a protector of the people. Nobody would know anything about her except for Gabrielle of Potedia, the bard who wrote the scrolls. Women heroes. Who ever heard of that before, huh? Both stories were lost until Mel and I found them. And they didn't mean anything to anyone until Mel translated them. Turns out both Mel and I are related to them. Funny how that works out."

The puzzled look returned to the Intern's face. It was like she was trying to translate what Janice was saying. She stood up and looked at her watch.

"I have to go. I have things to think about.", and she left.

"Huh. Weird kid. Hope she figures out how to get a bedside manner."

Janice had a crappy night, the oxygen hose must have kinked, because she woke up unable to breathe. She found the light, and unkinked the hose. Then she caught her breath. This was going downhill. Oh Hell, she'd been through worse.

Later that day the kid came back. She hesitated at the door, still hanging onto that damned clipboard..

"Come in. I got nothin' to do."

"I thought about what you said, about speaking for those people who had been dead for thousands of years."

"Yeah."

"I think I could do that. I don't know any dead languages except Latin, but people die everyday, and doctors speak for them. I couldn't offend them every time I open my mouth. And I wouldn't have to lie. I could be a Medical Examiner."

She was looking right at Janice now. Could that be confidence in her eyes?

"Sounds like you found your way. Good. Somebody has to speak for the dead. Go get 'em kid."

"Thank you!"

It was Janice Covington's last good deed. She didn't make it through that night. Young Maura Isles searched for a long time before she unearthed a copy of the book by Janice Covington and Melinda Pappas. She kept it in a place of honor in memory to the woman who helped her become a doctor.


End file.
